


yuletide blessings

by bunivy



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Nick's the weird dude selling spell and occult books at a christmas market like a fucking nerd, Romance, Witches, Yuletide, if you're lactose intolerant be warned it gets cheesy, please do not go into this for the habrina, this starts on habrina and ends on nabrina, you will be disappointed and you will hate me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27963278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunivy/pseuds/bunivy
Summary: Journalist and hopeless romantic Sabrina heads home for the holidays with an assignment: write the perfect article on a small town Christmas to capture the spirit of the holidays. Things start off right when her aunt Hilda performs a bit of tea reading which suggests romance in Sabrina’s future, and she gets a call from one Harvey Kinkle, friend and childhood crush, asking her out on a date to the local Christmas Market.Hilda’s tea never lies and this could really be it.Hecould be it.To her surprise, she runs into a spellbinding bookseller at the market who seems to be on a quest of his own and before Sabrina knows it, she’s wrapped up in the mystery and holiday joy of it all. Along the way, she comes to learn that maybe there's still some new magic to be discovered in old Greendale, after all.
Relationships: Nicholas Scratch/Sabrina Spellman, minor Harvey Kinkle/Sabrina Spellman - Relationship
Comments: 49
Kudos: 91





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, yeah, I dropped my other responsibilities and wrote this fic late into the night for the last couple of days because I lack self-control. If You Let Me update will come at some point this week. Also, this fic will be somewhere between 2 to 3 parts and will be updated fairly quickly. I hope you enjoy! It made sense in my brain.

* * *

“I think it’s smart,” Lilith, the Editor in Chief of the Springdale Sentry, says, a glint of respect shimmering in her eye. There isn’t anything else she loves more than a successful story, and Sabrina Spellman, the newest journalist on board, wants nothing more than her slice of fame—her big break. A proper chance at some of the bigger stories in town. “Nothing instills the spirit of Christmas into the hearts of city folk like the story of a quaint yet charming town. Covering the Greendale Christmas Market as a native will certainly draw traffic.”

Sabrina’s cheeks sting with the force of her smile. She reminds herself to relax. “That’s my sentiment exactly. I’ve been going to the Greendale Christmas Market since I was a little girl and there isn’t anything more magical than it, I promise.”

“I believe you,” Lilith says with a firm nod. “Just make sure you can recreate that same magic in your article.”

“Absolutely,” Sabrina agrees hastily. “I’ll have it emailed to you in advance so there’s plenty of time to print.”

“Thank you.” Lilith lifts her mug of coffee to her lips, lining up to the red smear of lipstick already marring the edge of it, and takes a long sip. This is Sabrina’s cue to leave, she has already learned that much. But before she can make it out through the modern glass doorway, Lilith has already drawn her to a stop once more. “And Sabrina? I understand you are working while away, but please do enjoy your vacation, as well.”

Sabrina doesn’t let the shock of the statement render her speechless—Lilith is not one for praise or warmth—instead, she nods once and says, “Of course. Merry Christmas, Lilith.”

And then she’s off, heels clicking against the pristine marble floors that feel nothing like home, smiling brighter than she has in weeks. 

* * *

The train ride over to Greendale is uneventful. Sabrina dozes off on multiple occasions and bumps herself awake against the window each time. Salem grumbles from his carrier beside her, not exactly pleased with his prison. 

“Just a little bit longer,” Sabrina promises the critter, who only eyes her with a grumpy look through the mesh.

When she wakes up the last time, the rest of the passengers are disembarking, so she stands, too, shaking off the remnants of sleep as she hikes the shoulder strap of the cat carrier over her shoulder and reaches for her luggage. She joins the short line of passengers exiting—not many tourists come to Greendale, after all—and waits to spill out of the train.

Outside, her cousin, Ambrose, is waiting for her with an eager smile. He always says he misses her most while she is gone, even though he teases her relentlessly while she is there. But she wouldn’t have it any other way. She charges for him, Salem growling in his carrier when he is nearly squashed between their embrace. 

Ambrose kisses the crown of her head and pulls away. “How was your trip?” 

“Not bad,” Sabrina says. “Slept through most of it. Thankfully, it isn’t a long one.” Springdale and Greendale are neighbors, after all, even though there is still quite some distance between the two of them. Most raised in that area have split off—those deciding on city life go for Springdale, the ones who want a quieter, more quaint life, go for Greendale, and those who want to be murdered in their sleep by a man in a black hood choose Riverdale. 

Greendale, she notices, smells just the same as it did the last time she had visited. Bright. Green. Brimming with magic, so much so that she feels a layer of goosebumps rise up along her skin. That feeling, that breeze of magic through the air, it’s easily noted by any witch who may find themselves a resident, or even a visitor, in Greendale. 

To Sabrina, it just feels like home.

“Let’s get you home. Zelda is still off at the Academy, but Hilda is at home, eagerly awaiting you. It’s all she’s talked about for the past month,” Ambrose says, taking her rolling luggage from her grasp. “Everything has been, ‘don’t touch those, they’re for Sabrina,’ and, ‘Ambrose Fionn Spellman, if you so much as breathe in the direction of that gingerbread roulade, you will end up in the Cain pit.’” He pauses for a moment before he says, “Though the latter may have come from our dear aunt Zelda.”

Sabrina huffs out a laugh. Zelda often shows her love through the guise of a threat, but the fact that she has been dutifully protecting Sabrina’s favorite dessert from being devoured by anyone other than her makes her heart swell. It’s hard being away from her family for the larger part of the year, but the times that she is home, they send her off with enough affection to last her ages.

“I can’t wait to see them both,” Sabrina says just before she ducks away behind a wall with Ambrose, taking his hand as they are whirled off with a spell.

_ Lanuae magicae. _

* * *

Ambrose is off again almost as soon as they’ve sat down for tea that evening, drawn away by the beckoning of one Prudence Night as she whispers something from the belly of the Academy and sends it to his ear through a spell that mimics a breeze. He’s grinning and pressing his palm against his ear, as though hoping to trap her voice there, before he flies off.

It’s just her and Hilda after that, Zelda departing to bed after greetings and dinner, claiming that she needs the rest before she begins their coven’s annual Yuletide preparations. 

“How lovely it is to have you back, dearest,” aunt Hilda says, voice as warm as the tea she pours for Sabrina. “Never quite the same with you gone.”

Sabrina looks around at the home she has grown up in. There are herbs in various drying stages hanging upside down above their kitchen counter. Plants, some beneficial to life and health, others poisonous and deadly, their long, trailing vines eager to snag and harm, line the windowsill above the sink. Sabrina glances at the jar of eyeballs planted on a shelf housing some of Hilda’s older tea sets, the gazes of which have been following her every move since she’s taken a seat at the small table at the end of their kitchen. It’s only when one of them winks does she drop her attention to the teacup Hilda has pushed her way. Coming back from her strictly mortal surroundings to a household built by witches can be a bit of a shock, even if she loves her home dearly.

“What’s this?” Sabrina muses, watching the bits of leaves as they swirl freely through her teacup. Normally, Hilda filters those out. That is unless she’s planning—

“A bit of tasseography before the holidays never hurt a soul. In fact, quite the opposite. Always good to get a glimpse of what’s to come.” 

Sabrina smiles and nods. Hilda has always been the one more in tune with fortunes. 

She knows the drill by now. 

Sip the tea with a clear mind. Don’t push it one way or another, simply allow it to work.

They share a plate of Hilda’s sweet almond and cranberry cookies while they chat, both in good spirits as Sabrina recalls some of her better memories from that year. She’s a witch, yes, as her aunt Zelda likes to often remind her, but she’s also mortal, and her aunt Hilda has always been open to the idea of her exploring both sides of her life. It was Hilda, after all, who pushed Sabrina to attend a mortal university once she graduated both Baxter High and the Academy of Unseen Arts, to eventually take up a job at a newspaper company in the middle of an unfamiliar city, and to never live her life regretting enjoying the things that make her happy.

She still comes home for Yule, for Samhain—which is, coincidentally, her birthday, as well—for Litha, Mabon—all of it. She loves being a witch just as much as she loves being mortal.

“I’m going to catch up with Roz later this week,” Sabrina says. “We’ve got so much to talk about.”

“Oh, is she home as well? Med school is going alright for her?”

“She absolutely loves it,” Sabrina replies, beaming. “I mean, she’s stressed out a lot of the time, and she’s counting down the days until she’s finished, but she’s excited for what comes after.”

“Ms. Rosalind will make a wonderful doctor,” Hilda agrees.

Sabrina nods, bright, reaching down for her teacup only to realize it’s gone empty. “Oh—” She doesn’t have much time to react once she glances down and finds the leaves gathered at the bottom of her cup in the shape of a heart as Hilda is already peering over the creaky old table, carrying over the smell of vanilla with her.

Then, her aunt is smiling as she plops down in her seat again, cheeks red with excitement. 

Sabrina glances up, eyes sparked with a dozen questions. She understands what the heart means, but she still looks for Hilda’s confirmation.

“It appears romance is on your horizon, love,” Hilda chirps and Sabrina drops her gaze down once more.

“Romance,” she exhales once, brows drawing together as she considers it. She’s gone on several dates in the past year itself. Once with a guy Roz had deemed ‘Clay Boy’ after Sabrina had stumbled into his bedroom, lip-tied with him, only to flick on the lights and find several partially sculpted clay busts staring at her. Needless to say, she had politely buttoned up her top and exited stage left, never to speak to him again, no matter how many times he’d proceeded to bug her. After that, she slowed down, made it a habit to thoroughly stalk the social media of whatever guy she had a potential date with, in hopes of spotting any weird quirks early on.

Which is odd considering she's a witch and she's certain a few of her dates in the past may have walked away at the mention of it. 

“When?” Sabrina asks a little breathlessly. “Do these things ever lie?”

“No way to tell when, though it’s likely sooner than later,” Hilda says with a small shrug. “And not often, dearest.”

The mortuary phone sparks to life, startling both women as it blares through the old victorian, amplified by magic so that no calls may be missed.

“I’ll get it,” Sabrina decides, squeezing her aunt’s shoulder as she passes. She grabs the nearest phone, an old yellow thing attached to the kitchen wall, hooking her finger through the curly cord as she answers with the customary, “Spellman Mortuary.” 

A slightly shocked male voice answers her.

“Sabrina!”

“Oh my—” she pauses before she says ‘Satan,’ even in her surprised state. “Harvey Kinkle, is that you?” A wide smile splits her lips and from the corner of her eye, she spots Hilda turning in her seat, face startled but pleased all the same. She practically bounces in her seat, motioning something at Sabrina.

“Yeah, it’s me. Theo mentioned you were back in town. I tried your phone but I couldn’t get through, hope it’s okay that I’m calling through here.”

“Of course it is,” Sabrina assures. “How have you been, Harvey?”

Harvey Kinkle, the fourth member of their once very lively ‘Fright Club,’—now reduced to the occasional annual or bi-annual meeting—is the son of the owner of the local mine and one of her best friends. At several points in their high-school era, Sabrina thought the pair of them would fall in love. Mortal and witch, just like her parents. But they never quite got the timing right, never seemed to have their feelings aligned properly.

There had also been the fear that they would screw up their friend group, that a potential break up might ruin the comfortable normal they had established. 

“I’m just fine. It’s so good to hear from you again, Brina,” Harvey says and Sabrina smiles at the nickname. No one but Harvey, Theo, and Roz call her that. It’s the version of her name that she loves the most. “I was thinking…”

“Yes, Harv?”

Hilda is motioning in her seat again. Sabrina motions back, half-dazed with panic and excitement and in no way able to decipher what exactly her aunt is trying to tell her.

“I was wondering,” Harvey begins again, sounding fearful of her response. “If you’d like to go somewhere.”

“Well, Roz will be here this weekend and Theo is a call away…” Sabrina trails off.

“No, Brina, I mean...Just the two of us,” Harvey says, “Like a date?”

“Oh!” 

They’re adults now. No issues can arise from it seeing as there are no uncomfortable classroom settings to deal with should something go wrong, no ruined theater visits, no awkward tables at Dr. Cerberus’. She supposes Roz and Theo might even be happy for them. The only issue now is that, while her friends have commented on her youthful appearance every now and again, they’ve no idea that she is, indeed, a witch. It’s a lot to spring on someone, and she hasn’t quite gotten around to telling them just yet.

_ Hey, by the way, just so you know, my whole family has worshipped the Devil for centuries, and I do, too. Surprise, here’s a pamphlet. Also, don’t go into the woods after dark! _

Yeah, she thinks, maybe not the best conversation to have, even if it kills her that she isn’t able to share that part of her with her friends.

_ Soon, you will have to leave your mortal’s behind,  _ her aunt Zelda has said. They will continue to age and she will not. The excuse that she ‘just has good genes’ won’t last her all her life.

But if she tells them, then she won’t have to worry about leaving them behind for a while.

“Brina?” Harvey’s hesitant voice snaps her back into the reality of the situation.

“Yes,” Sabrina decides. “I’d love to go on a date with you. Did you have something in mind?”

She turns her back when Hilda starts to silently clap, shoulders bouncing in excitement. 

“Great.” Harvey breathes a sigh of relief on the other end and Sabrina feels her cheeks warm at the thought that he’s been nervously fidgeting around with asking her. “I was thinking we could take a spin around the Christmas Market tomorrow? I hear this year is supposed to be even better than the last.”

“It’s what they always say,” Sabrina says through her smile. “That sounds wonderful.” And perfect, considering her work assignment anyway. At least now she’ll have company while she scouts out the market, and what better way to spend the time than hand in hand, sipping hot chocolate while cozied up to someone? Her heart practically jumps out of her chest at the thought, overwhelming happiness rushing through her, lighting her up from inside like a Yule tree. “I would absolutely love to go, Harvey.”

She hangs up the phone soon after, turns once to face her aunt Hilda, and presses her lips together to tamp down her smile. 

“Harvey Kinkle just asked me out on a date,” she says.

Hilda is already rising from her seat to meet her halfway, taking her hands as she nearly bubbles over with joy, like a cauldron left unattended. 

“Told you,” she says, “the tea never lies!”

_ Romance, _ Sabrina repeats to herself as she dumps the tea leaves out into Hilda’s flowerbed later that evening. She smiles to herself, the gaze of the moon soft on her back as she leans over the hibernating roses.

It’s not her fault that she’s the hopeless romantic Ambrose has dubbed her. It’s not her fault that she wants someone of her own to love, never one for the traditional witch ways of open relationships and multiple partners. There’s nothing wrong with that way of life, but it isn’t what she wants.

She wants true love, the maddening kind.

She wants to be  _ the one. _

She thinks Harvey Kinkle might be her answer, the one fate sent for her.

* * *

She’s standing outside of the mortuary in her sweater and skirt, black tights offering her legs some added warmth, hands in a pair of gloves with a scarf wrapped around the parts of her neck that peek out from under her jacket. The air smells...right. That’s the only way she can explain it.

It isn’t snowing in Greendale just yet, but her aunt Zelda says it will come soon. She knows those things, always has.

Harvey pulls up in his inherited red truck with the peeling paint and Sabrina smiles brightly as a wave of nostalgia hits her. When he opens the door for her, wearing his signature dopey smile, she nearly expects Theo and Roz to be crammed inside, but it’s just them. Sabrina reminds herself that it’s  _ just them. _

It’s a date.

She shivers again at the thought. Harvey, always so kind, offers her his jacket instead, the inside of which is lined with a thick layer of sherpa. Sabrina declines, of course. She won’t take his jacket, but she does take the hand he offers her over the console. 

The ride to the Christmas Market is short.

The sun sets so soon in Greendale now that it’s winter, already starting to shy away behind the horizon despite that it’s barely brushed past 5:30 pm. Witches are always more at home in the dark. Sabrina can’t deny the rush of power flooding through her veins as the moon slowly reveals itself. 

She and Harvey grab hot drinks at their first stop. It isn’t long before she’s holding a hot toddy, the heat seeping through her gloves. Harvey’s always been careful around alcohol, ever since his father became an addict after the loss of his mother. He fears the same pull might run through his own veins, so he sticks with hot cider, instead.

The Christmas Market looks almost the same as it has every year leading up to this one. There are still lights strung from trees lining the town center, a great big tree in the middle, covered in ornaments in varying shades of reds and greens and golds. Christmas music filters through the aisles, cheery and a little bit dreamy as it echoes around them through Greendale’s old speakers. Zelda would turn up her nose at Sabrina’s participation in such a sinless affair, would tell her the traditions are aligned with the False God, but she doesn’t see just how many similarities there are between mortal Christmas and witches’ Yuletide. 

“How long are you in Greendale?” Harvey asks her as they stop at a stand with handcrafted wreaths, Sabrina reaching out to touch the delicate poinsettias of one of them.

“For a few weeks,” Sabrina says, glancing over at him, smiling when Harvey bashfully ducks away, a clear sign that he’s been staring at her. She hides her own blush. “Have you submitted that comic strip you were going to send off? The Christmas one?”

“Yes.” Harvey’s beaming now, happy that she’s recalled that little detail he mentioned during their last catch-up. “They accepted it. It’ll be printed in the Christmas eve edition.”

“That’s great. You should do more of that.”

“I want to,” Harvey reveals as he eyes one of the wreaths awkwardly. “I just don’t have much time. With the mines and everything, dad really needs my help.”

“He should understand,” Sabrina says, turning to look at him. “Your hearts not in mining.”

“He doesn’t care if my heart’s in it, so long as my back is.”

Sabrina sighs and shakes her head. She’s had a bone to pick with Mr. Kinkle since she was a preteen and witnessed him nearly raise a hand against Harvey. She hasn’t really been allowed over since, though she isn’t eager to share space with his dad anyway. 

“How’s the city?” Harvey asks, eager to turn the conversation around, “you like it?”

“I love it,” Sabrina admits. “My job is great. I started not long ago but I can already see that I fit in really well.”

“That’s nice,” Harvey says. He sounds almost a bit somber. Still, Sabrina doesn’t think it’s targeted at her.

They set off again, going down the aisles slowly. It’s clear Harvey doesn’t particularly want to go home and Sabrina is taking notes on everything that she sees, so she’s fine with the pace. She squints at something in the distance. A stall that doesn’t quite seem to fit in. It lacks the usual ‘charm’ that the rest of the little shops have all donned. No string lights or garland. Their goods aren’t the usual Holiday-esque type they’ve run across thus far—soaps in the shape of pine trees, cookies that look like reindeer, initialed ornaments, and various other items that seem to have come straight out of a Hallmark movie. 

Actually, all that she can see lining this stand are books. Old ones, their covers creased, some of the spines broken and repaired again. Some gilded, others stitched together, made up of mismatched pieces. 

The very second Sabrina goes to touch one of the books, she feels it. Deep, old, the very same stuff that makes up her existence, sits deep in her bones. Magic. Thick and ancient and so hard to ignore.

She draws away just as Harvey picks up a small pocket-sized book, the red cover worn away to a dusty pink. Across the surface of it, in soft gold lettering, Sabrina can faintly read—

_ “Love Magic: Spells, Rituals, and Curses to Delight and Spite,”  _ Harvey says, voice tagged with a question mark that only grows in severity with each word that he reads aloud.

“Proper choice,” says a male voice, and Sabrina nearly startles as he suddenly appears as though out of thin air. He’s seated before them, an open book in his hand, as if he has been there all along. Donned in black, inky curls swept back loosely, there’s a mischievous glint to his equally as dark eyes as he regards Harvey. “Seems like you could use some help in that department.”

“Excuse me?” Harvey asks in utter shock. Sabrina’s own eyes go wide, but she’s still too confused by the sudden appearance of magic to say anything.

The man’s lips pull into a slightly lopsided smirk. There’s something oddly charming about it, despite his sharp appearance. “You’re awkward enough to trip over your own shadow. Serious, though. I’ll sell it to you for cheap. Three hundred.”

Harvey’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. “Three hundred—as in  _ dollars?” _

“Unless you use a different currency in flannel-land, yeah,” the man says. “It’s a steal compared to what it’s actually worth. You might not get a chance like this ever again. I’d take it if I were you.”

“I’m good...I think,” Harvey decides, glancing at Sabrina a moment, a silent plea to leave, but she doesn’t notice it, too preoccupied with staring at the bookseller’s odd assortment, heart beating wildly in her chest as she makes a sudden realization.

These are spellbooks.

Out in the open.

Either the man in question is magic-orientated like her, or he has stumbled upon some very valuable inventory. Some mortals have been known to collect witch relics, but she doubts any of them actually believe in the craft.

“Interested in anything, Miss?” the man asks, his attention now on her. Sabrina’s gaze snaps up to meet his, feels a stir in her stomach that freezes her in place. He considers her for a moment, dark brows pulling in. Familiarity seems to creep into his features.

She has several questions— _ What are you?  _ Who _ are you? What are you doing here? In Greendale? Selling freaking spellbooks? Do you think this is a joke? That’s not your real jawline, is it? _ —but asks none.

He smiles. She thinks it’s a nice smile, actually. It does a decent job of softening up his face, which naturally seems to sit rather precisely. Several seconds tick by and she realizes, by the tug of Harvey’s hand, that she's staring.

“Doesn’t have to be a book,” the bookseller teases.

Harvey’s cheeks flush red, as though he were the one getting hit on by some mysterious man selling spellbooks and not her. He holds up their joined hands and says, “We’re  _ literally _ on a date, dude.”

The stranger’s brow raises in intrigue, and then it shifts in an expression that’s tinged with a hint of confusion. He looks to Sabrina, almost as if checking whether or not that’s true. She gives a shrug and says, “We are.” Then she drops her palm onto one of the books, tries not to jump when it shivers beneath her touch. Harvey doesn’t notice, thankfully, but the bookseller does. “Where did you get all of these?”

“Around,” he answers. “That one’s fifty.”

Sabrina lifts her hand to peer down at the title.  _ Yuletide: Lore and Rituals for the Rebirth. _

“Wait a minute,” Harvey cuts in, sounding rather offended. “You just tried to sell me one for three hundred dollars. Listen, if you want to make any sales, you’re going to have to come up with a better price pattern—”

Sabrina tugs on Harvey’s hand before he can spend the rest of their evening giving business advice—because he seriously would, out of the kindness of his heart. “Why don’t we move on? There are still some stalls to see.”

“Yeah,” Harvey decides, and then they’re walking away. Sabrina glances back over her shoulder, long enough for the man to wink at her before settling back into his book. Several steps later, he’s invisible again, drowned out by the rest of the stalls. “Who  _ was _ that guy? I’ve never seen him around here before.”

“Dunno,” Sabrina replies, returning her gaze to the path ahead. “Maybe he’s passing through?” 

“What an odd assortment of things to sell at a  _ Christmas Market  _ of all places. Maybe he should ask about setting up shop at Dr. Cee’s.”

“You can make a Christmas gift out of anything as long as there's a want for it,” she tells him, knowing fully well that her aunt Zelda would have adored something from that particular stall. For a moment, she considers telling Harvey again, but decides against it when his face scrunches up in confusion.

“Who would want a book of Love Spells? And  _ curses?” _

Sabrina nearly says:  _ My aunt Zelda has a wall of shoes, one from each person she has cursed in the past. _

She doesn’t, of course. Instead, she settles on, “I guess it doesn’t matter. Want a Christmas cookie?” while pointing to the stall selling hot chocolate and gingerbread men the size of her hand.

_ Another day,  _ Sabrina thinks.

* * *

At dinner, Sabrina asks, “do we have any new additions to the coven?”

“To the coven?” Zelda clarifies over her cigarette. She’s the High Priestess. If any witch or warlock has entered their order, she would know. “No. Why?”

“No reason, really.” She smiles down at her dish as Hilda ladles a generous helping of winter stew into it. Zelda raises a brow, compelling her to continue. “I just thought I noticed some strange magic in the market tonight.”

“At the Christmas Market?” Zelda huffs, “Please, Sabrina. No respectable witch would be found anywhere near that mortal circus.”

“Any passing by witch would likely find themself staying at Dorian’s,” Ambrose says as he tears into a fresh dinner roll. Among the pleasurable aspects, Dorian’s also offers rooms to sleep in. “And I haven’t seen anyone new. What did she look like?”

_ “He  _ looked like any other person, but he was selling spellbooks,” Sabrina says.

“Well, did you get  _ his _ name?” Ambrose asks in the same mocking tone.

Sabrina shakes her head as she dunks a bit of her own bread into the steaming stew, still too hot to dig in. “No. I didn’t ask. For all I know, he could’ve been a mortal who’d struck up an interest in magic.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a mortal parroted around with our sacred texts. The mortals strung us up at one point and now they consider themselves historians when they study us. A bunch of thieves, if you ask me,” Zelda says, flicking her hand and swapping her cigarette out for a spoon. A glass of wine floats over from the nearby bar and settles beside her. “What were you doing at the market anyway? Imagine what your father would say if he knew you were there.”

“Her father would have been delighted, Zelds,” Hilda pipes up, “He’s gone with Diana several times, himself.”

“I had a work assignment, auntie. Which I haven’t finished, so I’ll be making several other trips.”

“Plus,” Hilda begins, elbowing her niece.

_ “Plus,”  _ Sabrina continues hesitantly. “I was on a date.”

“A date with whom?” Ambrose asks, suddenly sitting up now that the conversation had taken a turn. 

“Harvey.”

Zelda’s spoon fumbles out of her hand into her bowl. “Harvey  _ Kinkle?” _

“Yes, auntie.”

“The mortal boy?”

“That’s him, auntie.”

“Not my first choice but…” Ambrose cringes.

Sabrina glares. “Not your choice  _ at all, _ you mean.”

“Sabrina,” Zelda starts and Sabrina sighs because that voice means a lecture is on its way. “I understand your desire to remain part of your mortal life, but soon your friends will start to notice that you don’t age like they do. It’s important that you start thinking of ways to transition out of these relationships, not burrow further into them. You’ve done well in finding a life outside of Greendale for the time being, but engaging in a...petty romance with a mortal boy will only back pedal that effort.”

“What if I tell him?” Sabrina chances. “All of my friends.”

Zelda’s silent for a moment. Ambrose glances between them with both eyebrows raised and his spoon hanging from his mouth. 

“It’s a secret for a reason, Sabrina. The mortals—the men especially—have destroyed others for less.”

“My friends would never hurt me.” That, she is sure of. “I trust them. I love them.”

Again, silence settles over the table. 

“I would rather you not expose us in that manner, but if you must, please also prepare yourself for the experience of watching those you love give way to age and eventually perish,” Zelda says bluntly. Sabrina flinches. “Such is the way of a witch who meddles with mortals. They will age and die, and you will not.”

“You may catch Kinkle in his silver fox era,” Ambrose attempts at a joke, kicking his cousin softly under the table, but she has already gone silent, her gaze cast downward.

Zelda goes on to say, “I only want you to be aware.”

“Edward and Diana made it work,” Hilda chimes in quietly. 

“Had they not died prematurely, they would still suffer the same fate.” She raises her wine to her lips, taking a sip before she continues. “Perhaps, it is best they passed together.”

“Edward loved her so,” Hilda says solemnly.

“It’s best to love family and family only,” Zelda says firmly. “The rest is simply noise.”


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to go up yesterday, but I got distracted from editing by all of the part 4 interviews popping up, so I apologize!
> 
> I also thought it was quite fitting that Kiernan mentioned nabrina being each other's person, since this update's centered a little bit around the idea of finding 'your person.' So woohoo!
> 
> Let's find out what Nick's doing in Greedanle this Christmas!
> 
> BTW, Lilith is straight up just mortal in this fic, I think she's had to deal with Lucifer's shit long enough so.

* * *

Harvey is in the mines when Sabrina swings around the market a few days later, notepad in hand, with the intent of interviewing a few of the stand owners for her article. 

She arrives before the sun sets, a thick red scarf bundled around her neck to keep out the cold air, and goes to grab a hot drink in hopes that it will keep her hands warm. Her gloves sit forgotten on the entryway table at the mortuary, having slipped from her mind on her way out. 

As she makes her way through the stalls, she can’t help but notice that the bookseller with the odd assortment never crosses her sight. For a moment, she can’t help wonder if she'd imagined the entire thing.

Except she’s sure Harvey remembers him.

It’s with her drink nearing empty, after she already has several interviews tucked away in her notepad, that she feels it again.

Magic.

When Sabrina looks up, beyond the string lights that illuminate the market in a pale glow, she sees the plump moon. The sun has set and the pull of magic has trickled in, like smoke rolling downhill, filling in the cracks between the trees as it goes. She pauses on her way to interview Ms. Margie, owner of the stall selling tins of handmade Christmas cookies, and turns down another aisle. It’s as though a hand reaches out and strokes her cheek, as gentle as the brush of a moth’s wing. It flutters through her hair—a breeze that only she can feel—and beckons her forward. She starts after it, weaving through stalls as she chases the trace of magic like it is a thread disappearing between her fingers.

It hits her all at once suddenly, and she looks up to see that she is standing right before the table of thickly spined books, old Latin staring back at her in gleaming shades of gold. Her brows knit, drawing together, and the look only intensifies when she meets eyes with the dark-haired boy from before.

“Can I help you?” he asks, eyes lighting up with recognition once he notices her. “Have you lost your date?”

“No,” Sabrina says all too quickly, but she still goes on to ask, “What are you doing here?”

“Selling books,” he replies politely. With her gaze, she runs a quick sweep along the inventory spread out along the table, crammed full, the pages seemingly breathing with life, yearning for her touch as they latch onto her magic. It doesn’t appear that he’s sold much. It’s a relief to realize that the magic is still safe from the wrong hands.

She looks up again, hardens her expression, and asks, “Who are you?”

“Don’t think you need that information to shop,” he offers back. “I promise the stock is legitimate.”

“I’m interviewing the stall owners,” Sabrina bluffs, holding out her notepad. She has no desire to work anything about an occult bookseller into her article about _Christmas,_ but she is nosy and desperate for information as to why he’s here. 

“Then, it’s Nicholas Scratch--Nick Scratch.” He sets his book down to lean forward a bit, arms crossing over the surface in front of him. His mouth opens again like he’s not done speaking, but she cuts him off.

“What brought you to Greendale?”

“The magic of Christmas,” he answers almost mockingly and Sabrina narrows her eyes. He holds his hand out across the table, beckoning hers. “I told you my name. It's only fair you tell me yours.”

She gives in with a small sigh. “Sabrina Spellman,” she says, tucking her notepad under her arm and reaching across to take his hand. And there it is again. Just a tickle, soft as a kiss against her palm, but so hard to miss. After a split second, she draws her hand away and balls it into a fist at her side. Then, she stutters out, “Thank you, that’s all!” before she shuffles back and rushes off, eager to get away.

When she’s finally uncurled her fingers again, several steps outside of the view of the booth, she notices her hands are no longer cold.

* * *

Hilda pours her a cup of tea to soothe her nerves and warm her up when she comes back home that evening, her mind in disarray, thoughts shooting off every which way like a firework. She doesn’t tell her aunt about the weird guy at the market, thinking there really isn’t much there to be concerned about. As Zelda has said, he could very well just be a thief, a historian specifically studying magic and witches, and it might just be best to ignore him. She settles herself in beside Hilda and watches the leaves swirl around her teacup a second time, dropping the topic from her mind entirely.

Again, the leaves land in the shape of a heart.

Again, Sabrina dumps them into the flowerbed, barefoot and shivering in her pajamas as she does.

The mortuary telephone doesn’t ring this time, but her cellphone does ping on the table when she comes back in. She hurries toward it, nearly stumbling over her own feet and making Hilda chuckle while she blushes in embarrassment.

 **Theo [942PM]:  
** -dad and i are going to be settling jams, jellies, and cheese at the market tomorrow  
-come see us?

* * *

The next day, she meets Theo and his dad at their booth under tangled strings of multi-color Christmas lights, twinkling rapidly as they shift between green and red. They’ve also brought along Vincent van Goat, the newest addition to the farm, a white goat with a patch of brown over his ear who bleats at Sabrina when she bends down to pet him.

“Brina!”

She nearly startles at the sound of Harvey’s voice.

Outside of a few texts, she hasn’t talked to him since their date some nights ago. She beams at the sight of him now, finding comfort in the fact that Hilda’s tea has sent her in his direction again. That _has_ to mean something. Her aunt Zelda’s warning still sits heavily on her mind, but this is Harvey, and he would understand. Harvey would still love her, no matter what. And she could stick around, be a part of his life if it's what he ends up wanting.

“Hi, Harvey.”

Sabrina stands and dusts her hands off, meeting Harvey halfway. To her surprise, he leans down and brushes a kiss along her cheek, his lips cold. He pulls back to smile at her afterward and she can feel the blush as it warms her cheeks. Theo eyes them in the background, offering Sabrina a cheeky look when she glances over.

“What are you doing here? I thought you had another day at the mines,” she says focusing her attention back onto Harvey.

“I did, but I got out of it. I told my dad I’d promised to help the Putnams today.”

“Thanks again for that, Harv,” Mr. Putnam says as he sets down another milk crate filled to the brim with variously sized jars of jam, the lids covered in red fabric and tied with golden ribbons. A little tag hangs from of them, indicating the flavor. Theo hops up to help him refill the quickly dwindling stock.

“No problem,” Harvey beams back before he turns to face Sabrina again. “What’re you up to today? You gonna hang here with us?”

“For a bit, yeah,” she says, “Then, I want to go off and try the apple cider donuts I saw last night. Plus, I really should get a start on my article.”

“For the Springdale Sentry, right?”

“That’s the one,” she reveals with a smile.

“Proud of you,” he comments with a small shoulder bump. “I didn’t know you swung by here last night.”

“Yeah, I wanted to interview some of the booth owners for my assignment. I almost asked you to come but I knew you were at the mines.”

“Right,” Harvey replies half-heartedly, like the sole mention of the mines has made his whole mouth go sour. Sabrina swerves away from the topic as quickly as she can.

“I got through a few of them. I also…” she pauses for a moment, wondering if she should continue, “ran into that guy again? The one selling the books?”

‘Ran into’ seems a lot more normal than ‘followed a trail of magic to him’ so it’s what she’s sticking with, even if it’s not exactly the truth. For a moment, she thinks Harvey might not even remember him, but then his face pinches in a bit, the way Salem’s does whenever he smells something rank.

“You mean the guy that hit on you?” he asks, _“While_ we were on a date?”

“Him, yeah. But I don’t think he knew, honestly,” Sabrina replies with a faint shrug. Harvey shrugs, too. “His name’s Nicholas Scratch. I don’t recall ever hearing that name around here, do you?”

He shakes his head, making room for Theo as he pokes his head around Harvey’s arm, something catching his interest. “Nicholas Scratch?” he pipes up, bending down to pet Vincent. “That’s a peculiar name. Didn’t the Devil name himself something like that? ‘Old Nick’? ‘Mr. Scratch’?” Theo’s a horror fanatic like her, has read his fair share of questionable pieces of literature. Sabrina feels the realization set in. It’s like running through a rosebush and suddenly getting caught in place by the thorns hidden beneath.

“Probably an alias,” Harvey says. “I mean, you saw what he was selling. Occult books at a Christmas market...”

“Come on, Harv, it’s Greendale, after all.” Theo pats the goat on his head before he stands again. “People here love that stuff. Your comics aren’t exactly flowers and rainbows.”

The two of them dissolve into conversation, Nicholas Scratch a fading topic as they fall into a discussion involving comic books and Harvey’s plans. Sabrina can’t really hear them, her mind lagging behind, not quite ready to move beyond the piece of vital information Theo had brought up.

“I’m going to go look into those donuts. I’ll bring some back for you guys,” she says, and then she’s stomping off before they can respond. It’s colder now that the sun has gone down, but Sabrina can hardly feel it as she focuses all of her energy onto finding that undercurrent of magic that she felt the night before. It doesn’t take much effort, and soon enough, she’s following that very same thread right back to Nicholas Scratch’s booth. She doesn’t stop there, surprising even herself as she trudges behind the table and comes face to face with him. Before he can react, in a hushed, yet scathing voice, she declares, _“You’re a witch!”_

There isn’t shock or fear in his features, just a tinge of amusement that only grows as he considers her. “Technically,” he says after a beat, “I’m a warlock.”

“And you knew I was a witch the whole time,” she says, the realization dawning on her.

“Yeah. Would have been hard not to notice, given how brazenly you flaunt your power.”

“I can’t believe you—” She halts, mouth downturned. “What?”

“It’s not an insult,” Nicholas assures. “But if you want to hide the fact, you should throw on a cloaking spell or something.”

“Says the guy waving his own magic around! I felt you across the market!”

“I wasn’t trying to hide it.” His expression shifts into something a little coyer. “What else did you feel?”

It _feels_ like he’s hitting on her again. She ignores it, asking instead, “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

“I thought I made myself clear when I offered you a rather hefty discount on a very valuable piece of literature,” he replies. “Plus, you were with that mortal. It didn’t seem like he knew and I didn’t want to give away your secret.” 

“You could have told me the second time I came around,” Sabrina defends.

He shrugs and his lips curve up into a smile. “I wanted to see how long it’d take you to notice.” She follows his gaze over his shoulder. Several shoppers have crowded in the narrow aisle in front of his table, stopping to survey the abundant goods. A few of them have already glanced their way. Sabrina nearly jumps when a voice tickles the air beside her ear. It’s Nicholas, leaning over to ask, “Want to walk?”

She shouldn’t. 

She should go meet back up with her friends and forget all about the random warlock passing through town. 

But she’s curious and she still has other questions to ask.

When she looks back over at him, he’s already waiting for her beside the stall. 

“Aren’t you afraid of your things going missing?”

“They won’t touch it.”

Sure enough, when she glances back after they have ventured away, she notices that the mortals slip right past the booth as if it isn’t there at all, continuing on to the next instead. Sabrina shakes her and follows him.

“What are you doing hanging around here?” she asks. “Around mortals?” Dark Lord, she sounds like her aunt Zelda.

“I could ask you the same.” He glances her way. “On a date with a mortal? That’s not something you see every day.”

Sabrina blushes. “We’re not dating, _exactly._ We’ve only been on one date so far.”

“How many does it take?” he asks through a veil of confusion. “Until you...you know.” He lowers his voice and runs his thumb horizontally across his throat to finish his point. Sabrina flutters back a step, equal parts shocked and offended.

“Until I _what?”_

“Sacrifice him. Bleed him for a ritual?” he says simply. “That’s what you intend to do with him, isn’t it?”

“I plan to love him!” she all but shouts back.

“Love?” Nicholas questions, and then further, “A _mortal?”_

 _“Yes,”_ she hisses.

“Until death do you part. In about fifty years.” He pauses for a moment, raises his brow as though something has just crossed his mind, and says, “Though I’ve heard the mortal men stop working long before then.”

“That’s enough,” Sabrina cuts in, putting her palm up so that she doesn’t have to see the devilish look he’s sending her way. “You never answered my question. What are _you_ doing here?”

The expression dies down into something a bit more considerate as he seems to work the words over in his mind. “I’m looking for someone,” he admits after a second, satisfied with his answer while she only grows more curious. 

“For who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Gee, you’re a real pleasure,” she huffs and rolls her eyes.

That mischievous aura rolls back in, and he even winks at her before he says, “Wait and see.”

“Where are you from, anyway? What coven?” She says it as if she is about to call them up and request they come pick up their roguish and incredibly annoying, not at all handsome, warlock before she singes off those brows he seems to enjoy wagging about.

“I don’t have one right now,” he admits.

“That’s dangerous,” Sabrina replies instantly. It’s what she’s been told all her life. A witch without a coven is an easy target. There hasn’t been an inkling of witch hunters for decades, but as Zelda says, it’s never bad to be overly cautious. Not that Sabrina really has any experience with being even a little bit cautious.

Wisely, he says, “Only if you let it be.”

He certainly is the worst person to talk to, she decides resolutely. He offers nothing, meanwhile, he has already picked apart her budding romance. Even so, she wants to keep digging—it’s in her nature, after all—but before she can say anything else, she realizes she’s led them to the donut stand. Sabrina sighs and places her order, adding on an extra as to be polite, because she _did_ just walk right up to him and accuse him of being a witch—even if her accusations were just.

She doesn’t get a chance to pay, fingers still digging through her purse in search of her wallet when he hands a bill off to the young guy behind the stall. He hands back a paper bag spotted along the bottom with grease stains. Nicholas plucks a donut out and holds the bag out to her.

“You didn’t have to…”

“Don’t give away my secret,” he says. “Blessed Yule.”

He leaves her standing there, bashful, as he sinks back into the crowd, black hair disappearing within seconds. For a moment, she wonders if he was there at all.

She’s nearly back to the Putnams' stall when she realizes she’s forgotten to grab donuts for the others.

* * *

Mr. Kinkle is gone for the weekend when Harvey invites her, Theo, and Roz over for a movie night and gift exchange. Sabrina shows up with a batch of freshly baked snickerdoodle cookies, courtesy of Hilda Spellman. Roz brings a bottle of rum and Theo brings the corresponding eggnog. 

They order pizza, sit crammed around the falling apart coffee table at the center of the Kinkle household, laughing while a Christmas movie no one is paying attention to blares in the background. Harvey gifts her a notebook with her name engraved along the soft cover. His eyes light up when he opens the leatherbound sketchbook she bought from a small, handmade shop in the city. There are a set of enchanted colored pencils with tips that never wear down that she chickened out giving him still sitting in her bag.

They finish their gift exchange and settle back in the cushion to finish up the movie, Harvey’s arm coming around to rest on her shoulder. It feels nice, warm. It feels like what she thinks mortal love might. Normal. Steady.

She stays behind to help clean up, Theo mumbling something to Roz, who then clears her throat and suggests the two of them simply _must_ leave. Harvey’s hand brushes hers as they clear away the remnants of their gathering, careful not to frighten her, as if she isn't a daughter of the night—someone _he_ might fear if he knew. The thought makes her cringe and draw her hand away.

She won’t tell him tonight. Or tomorrow night, probably. But one day.

Harvey kisses her on the doorstep on her way out, surprising her. Sabrina has to go in for another because it’s over before she has a chance to decide whether or not she likes it. And well, after another taste, she can say for certain it’s a kiss and that’s pretty much it.

When she walks home, she feels a little tipsy from the rum but she doesn’t feel mad with love, not the way she had hoped.

* * *

A couple of days later, she descends the Spellman stairway before the others rise and sits down with her kettle—the one she chose out of the assortment Hilda has collected over the years. Her aunt always says that intention is everything, so she picks the one that speaks to her. It’s a cream-colored ceramic with holly leaves painted around the width of it. Festive enough, she thinks. 

Sabrina grabs a matching teacup and goes through the process.

She turns the teapot once to the right, then twice to the left. Allows the tea to steep to the proper time, checking the clock on the wall as the minutes pass by, careful not to leave it for too long. She taps her foot anxiously against the hardwood beneath her chair.

She attempts to sip it with a clear mind once it’s poured into her cup, but that’s harder than it sounds so she ends up gulping it down, ignoring the searing ache the hot liquid leaves behind. At the bottom of her teacup sits a perfect heart, the leaves bunched together as though cruelly mocking her.

Sabrina bites her tongue and holds a middle finger up to the leaves.

“Should I ask?”

She jumps in her seat, snapping her gaze up to find Ambrose hovering over her shoulder, wearing pajama pants and a robe that hangs half-open on him.

“I’d rather you not.”

“I won’t but...It appears there’s romance in your future, cousin. I suppose things are going well with the miner?”

“Things are okay with Harvey,” Sabrina replies, hoping it’ll be enough for him to leave her alone, but as guessed, the comment only sparks further curiosity.

“Just okay?”

She doesn’t say anything, or rather, she doesn’t get a chance to. Her phone pings in her hand. A new email.

**TO:** Sabrina Spellman <sspellman@springdalesentry.com>  
 **FROM:** Lilith Eden <lilitheden@springdalesentry.com>  
 **SUBJECT:** Greendale Assignment

Sabrina,

I do hope you are enjoying your stay in your hometown. Please do not forget your assignment. As to avoid any delays in printing, please make sure to have the file sent over within the upcoming week.   
Thank you,

 _Lilith Eden  
_ _Editor in Chief  
_ _Springdale Sentry_

“Satan,” Sabrina breathes in exasperation.

Ambrose peers around the fridge door where he has slunk off to gather a glass of orange juice, dislodging the muffin he has in his mouth before he asks, “What?”

“My boss,” she grumbles. “She’s just...being pushy. I have to go. I’m meeting Roz and then I’m heading back to the market to get started on typing up my article. Hopefully, being in the midst of it will help spark the much needed Christmas spirit so I can actually get this thing done and sent off.” She sighs and shoves her laptop into her tote bag, along with the notepad where she’s jotted down some of the residents’ interviews. Briefly, she gets a glance at a scribble that reads, _Nicholas Scratch,_ ~~_weird occult bookseller_~~ _warlock,_ before it’s tucked away from view.

He mentioned looking for someone. She wonders if he’s found them yet, or if he’s still hanging around, scaring the locals in his free time. 

“Don’t forget, we’re lighting the Yule log tonight,” Ambrose says, moving out of the way as she goes to dig out her own blueberry muffin from the fridge.

“I never miss it.” 

She’s nearly out of the kitchen when she freezes and rushes back, gathering up the teacup with the leaves still shaped into a heart at the bottom. With a wave of her hand and a whisper of a spell, the kettle floats back onto the burner. She still has to dump the leaves out, feed them back to the Earth, as Hilda says. Otherwise, she’ll screw with her fortune and Sabrina is already struggling with figuring out what it’s supposed to mean.

Perhaps, it’s just that. 

Romance, not love.

* * *

After spending most of the morning and afternoon with Roz, Sabrina’s wandering down the sidewalk, following the smell of spice and soft swell of music. The market goes on for two weeks before Christmas, starting a little later in the day, and is formed mostly of residents who get straight to it after their day jobs. Those that sell crafts generally start early in the year, making sure they have enough stock once the season swings back around. Bakers shut down their shops at a certain hour each day, roll down the street with trays of special goods that disappear before the sun rises, and set up shop at their stall. A Santa is selected each year to sit and take gift requests from the town’s children while their parents photograph.

It’s magic of its own. She has always thought so.

She tugs her scarf a little higher, covering her chin as the breeze picks up. It hasn’t started to snow yet, but the temperature has dropped low enough that she’s swapped out her usual skirt for a pair of fitted trousers. The sun has already set by the time she finds a suitable bench to sit and work at.

Ten minutes go by. Fifteen. Twenty. And she has yet to jot down a single word.

The barren document stares back at her, cursor blinking like the second hand of a clock.

Sabrina grumbles out something incoherent and shuts the laptop. She takes out her phone and texts Harvey.

**Sabrina [6:15 PM]:** **  
**I’m at the market-  
Want to come by?-

**Harvey [6:16 PM]:  
** -I can’t, I’m sorry  
-Shift at the mines tonight

Well, so much for that.

She supposes she could go home, try again another time. If there’s anything she knows, it’s that she shouldn’t force it. The words will come when they’re meant to, but she also has a job and that job has a timeframe, and right now, Sabrina is falling behind.

What she needs is a dose of Christmas magic.

That’s it.

Instead of packing up and going home, she packs up and delves further into the market.

He’s easier to find the third time, the thread thin and gleaming. All she has to do is pull on it.

“Nicholas,” she greets, realizing this is the first time she has said his name back to him. He perks up at the sight of her.

“Just Nick,” he offers with a pleasant smile. Sabrina averts her eyes when she realizes she’s following the curve of his mouth, the corners that don’t sit quite even but just charmingly so. “Hi, Spellman. Come to take a look again? Or are you here to tie me to a stake this time?”

Spellman. It’s her name but she hasn’t had anyone call her that before. It sounds dated, but she kind of likes it.

“Neither,” she says, glancing over the plethora of books he’s got laid out yet again. While they look interesting and she certainly loves a good read, they aren’t the reason why she’s found herself random before him again. “How much of the market have you actually seen?”

“Not much,” he answers with a shrug. “It’s not really my scene.”

“Yet, here you are.”

“Here I am.”

“Want to explore?” she asks. “I bet you won’t find your person while sitting back there.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, but then Nick is standing, bringing the breeze of magic with him as he comes to meet her. “What about your boyfriend? Don’t mortals get incredibly jealous?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Sabrina says instead.

“You sound disappointed.”

She exhales, a little peeved that he’s able to read her with such ease, despite that she hardly knows him. It must be a witch thing. “I’m not. Not with him, at least. He’s great, always has been.”

“But?”

Her eyes snap up to meet his intrigue riddled pair. She wonders how he’d managed to catch that when she’d tried her damndest not to let any of her doubt slip through. “But—” she admits begrudgingly, “It feels—”

“Boring?” 

“Normal,” she corrects. “I _do_ want normal, but I also want—” she drops her gaze, feels warmth flood her cheeks as she reveals, “—something _special.”_

He nods like he wishes he could understand.

They’re walking aimlessly, neither one of them with a proper plan. Sabrina doesn’t like the sudden silence that falls over them, so she clears her throat and asks, “Have you tried the hot chocolate here?”

Nick glances over at her, the odd forlorn look evaporating, replaced instead by amusement. He may be a warlock, but he reminds her of a wolf. “Are you offering to take me?”

“It’s literally ten stalls away,” she tells him as she leads them away, taking a turn and weaving through the shallow crowds of people. He follows closely behind her. “Also, you have to promise me you won’t make a big deal out of this.”

“Out of what?” he asks.

She pauses at the stall selling hot beverages, places her order, and then spins carefully, handing him a cup of steamy hot chocolate in the process. There’s a swirl of whipped cream ontop and flaked chocolate. “Out of this,” she says, motioning to her own cup. “I’ve had hot chocolate in several places, but Greendale during Christmas still remains the best.” The sentiment rings true this year, too, she notes as she goes in for her first sip.

“A witch that celebrates Christmas,” Nick comments. “Truly, I’ve seen it all.”

“Whatever,” she shrugs off. “Go on, try it.”

He does, all while eyeing her like she’s grown a second head. Sabrina doesn’t care because, for a split second, Nick’s face lights up in the purest way. She’s already broken out into a grin when he clears his throat and shrugs, donning the nonchalant attitude once more. “It’s alright,” he says.

Sabrina shakes her head and goes ahead. She draws him further into the market, resisting the urge to grasp his hand when the crowd gets a little too thick and he’s suddenly so close, brushing up against her unintentionally.

“Have you been to the tree yet?” she asks after a moment, Nick’s attention slowly drawing away from all of the nearby delights, away from the laughter of mortals as they huddle, red-cheeked from the cold, around one another. That’s the thing with witches and mortals. Outside of her family, she doesn’t think she has ever seen groups of witches interact the way mortals do. Nick has probably noticed that, too. “Come on,” Sabrina says, motioning with her chin.

They wander toward the large Christmas tree at the center of the market. Crates of ornaments in various holiday-esque shades sit off to the side, overwatched by a girl in an elf costume who hands them an ornament each and a marker to share, all while blushing when Nick smiles at her. Sabrina puts her palm flat on his back—doesn’t even react at how solid he feels—and pushes him forward before he has a chance to flirt.

She stops them before a bare patch in the tree, glancing around at the other ornaments that have already found their place. All of them have something scribbled on them, the handwriting on each a little different. Unique. They all belong to the residents of Greendale.

“You write down something you wish for,” she explains. “Or something you’ve been trying to manifest. Then, you hang it on the tree and hope it comes true.”

He glances at her skeptically. “Do you believe in that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I was raised around magic—you, too, presumable.” He is a warlock, after all.

“Yes, but the mortals, I mean,” he goes on. “Do they really think the universe will bend backward for them without them giving anything in return?”

Sabrina shoots him a pointed look in response. “You’re selling spellbooks to them.” 

“They’ll buy them for the novelty of owning something unique, not for practical use,” he explains. “They couldn’t perform any of the spells or rituals even if they tried, or at least, nothing would come of them.” She supposes he has a point. They never signed the Book of the Beast, didn’t give their souls to the Dark Lord in exchange for power. The corner of his mouth curves up when he glances over at her. “Your boyfriend could try any of those spells, and he’d still be just as offensive as before.”

“He isn’t offensive,” Sabrina grumbles. “He’s polite. And he’s kind, even to you, who said some rude things to him and—it doesn’t matter. Let’s get back to this before you make me angry and I take away your ornament.”

He holds it out of her reach and in mock offense says, “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” He meets her eyes with a hint of wickedness ghosting his, almost as if to suggest he could very well do that. She uncaps her marker, intending to ignore him as she begins to roll her ornament over in her hand, feeling for the perfect place to jot down her wish. “You don’t have to write anything,” she explains, “you could draw a symbol to represent it.” That’s closer to spellwork, anyway. She smiles softly as she draws a heart over hers—reminiscent of the one at the bottom of her teacup—and hangs it up on the tree. 

When she’s finished admiring her work, she looks over at him. There’s a star at the center of his, small but clear. It’s not the usual pentagram they use in their rituals, closer more to the sort that riddles the sky above them. She wants to ask, but doesn’t, assuming it works like birthday wishes—canceled out once revealed.

“That’s all then?” he asks.

“That’s it.”

He sweeps his gaze along the ornaments littering the rest of the tree before meeting her eyes again. “What else do you do around here?” 

Excitement nips at her when she hears the curiosity in his voice. She feels a bit wild, a bit thrilled, at the thought that she’s selling the idea of Christmas to a witch. Take that, aunt Zelda. “Want to grab a snack and see the fire pit?” 

“Depends,” Nick says. “Do the mortals undress and dance around it the way we do?”

“You’re seriously insufferable,” she decides and he smiles like he has just been complimented.

They stop at a booth selling hot cinnamon sugar pretzels and wait several minutes in line behind a finicky woman with a bob cut who proceeds to give the attendant an earful. From the corner of her eye, Sabrina catches Nick mumbling something under his breath, catches the flick of his wrist, ever so gentle, at his side. Less than a second later, the rude woman shouts as the drink in her hand spills violently down her front, dousing her shirt in it, and she stops off in embarrassment, much to the pleasure of everyone else in line.

“Clumsy mortal,” Nick says and Sabrina elbows him in the side.

“You _cannot_ be doing that,” she tries to argue, but the grin rising up along her face betrays the lecturing tone of her voice. He looks proud of himself, even more so to have made her smile.

They gather their pretzels and settle on a bench near the fire pit, which Nick deems as suitable but definitely not grand enough. Sabrina reminds him that the mortals are not quite as in tune with the flames as they are, and that sometimes, they even accidentally set their own things on fire so in this case, it’s primarily for their safety. It’s still a nice enough sight to look at, and it certainly helps to warm them both up.

Sabrina decides to ask, “So, how does one go about looking for someone they don’t know?”

Nick shrugs. “I’m not sure.”

“You don’t even have the slightest idea of what they might look like?” she asks. “Or who they _could_ be?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Sabrina turns to face him on the bench, curling her legs underneath her as she tears a chunk from her pretzel. “Explain.”

“Sorry?”

“Explain,” she repeats, “how that makes sense. How did you even find yourself in this situation?”

“You know how the woods here are a pool of magic?” Nick starts after a moment. She nods. Most of their rituals are done in the woods where the witches feel most at home, but she isn’t sure how he knows that, given he isn’t part of their coven. “And you know, our magic is strongest during the witching hour. Yule, too, makes it easier in a way.”

“It’s why we burn the Yule log,” she says. To keep themselves safe from anything that might slip through the cracks.

“Yeah,” Nick says. “I was passing through, came back for another reason, but when I found myself in the woods the thought to ask for a divination crossed my mind.”

“What did you ask about?” she asks, leaning in as her intrigue grows. “Something important?”

“Not something,” Nick reveals, and then a little hesitantly, he adds, “Someone.”

She’s quiet as she asks, “Like a lover?”

“Like a family,” he admits a bit bashfully. “Someone who won’t leave me behind.”

“Don’t you have a family?” She bites her tongue, but the thought slips out before she can stop it anyway.

“No,” he says quickly, moving forward like he has no desire to stay on that subject. “Anyway, when I asked, I looked up and a star fell out of the sky. A light. I followed it and it landed right here, in the middle of Greendale.” 

“Like a sign,” she says, thinking of her own situation. She recalls the little star he drew on the ornament, mirroring the heart she drew on her own. He’s not much different than her, even if he’s looking for a different type of love.

“I’m not really sure, but I can’t seem to get myself to leave without at least finding out.”

Sabrina nods, understanding, then she admits, “My aunt read my tea, said there’s romance in my future. Three times, I got the same reading, and I keep following it even though I’m not all that hopeful anymore. I guess we’re sort of alike in that way, both looking for something— _someone.”_

He smiles. “I guess so.”

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, watching the fire. Children dart around it, giggling as their parents follow behind them, beat and tired from the day. There are lovers wandering about, hand in hand, sharing smiles and warm drinks. Again, she notices Nick watching the mortals. Not fondly, exactly, but perhaps in quiet envy. The incandescent swell of the fire warms his olive skin amber along the edges. He looks good beside it, the way they often do.

Sabrina surprises herself when she takes his hand.

He lets her, even if she does notice the startled tremble that rolls through him. She thought his hand would be cold—it’s why she took it—but it’s not. It reminds her of the warmth she felt the day she shook his hand over his table of spellbooks.

“Where do you go when you aren’t here?” she asks curiously. The market closes at a certain point, after all.

“Elsewhere,” he says, then looks at her with a purely impish glow to his face. “But if you’re so concerned about where I sleep, perhaps you might offer your bed to share?”

“Insufferable,” she declares once again and he laughs, low and warm. She likes the sound of it.

Sabrina draws away suddenly when her phone rings and she goes digging for it through her bag. “Crap, crap, crap—” she grumbles as she catches a glimpse of the name on her screen. Stumbling over herself, she manages to get to her feet without falling. She hikes her bag over her shoulder. “I forgot I was supposed to be home for the Yule log lighting. I have to go, hopefully I can make it in time for my own funeral.”

“It was nice knowing you, then,” Nick says.

“Come to dinner,” she blurts out before she can stop herself.

“What?”

She’s nearly hopping in place as her phone starts to blare again. By now, Zelda has had enough time to prepare a proper lecture. “Tomorrow night. My aunt’s the High Priestess of the Church of Night, she’d love to have you over,” she continues. “It’s the house at the end of the woods. Old, scary victorian. You can’t miss it.”

“I’m not—” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“I really have to go! Bye, Nick.” She’s waving as she rushes off backward, nearly running into someone behind her. “Show up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please drop some feedback below if you so desire--I truly appreciate it.
> 
> Also follow me over on [tumblr](https://bunivys.tumblr.com/) if you'd like. I post previews of upcoming updates on there occasionally!


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's after christmas now but happy holidays! I intended to have this up before but I recently moved and have been dealing with all that fun stuff. 
> 
> here we go, the final chapter. it's full of cheese, hope you enjoy!

* * *

It’s the next morning when Sabrina settles into her seat at the Spellman table, laptop in front of her, a cup of coffee on the cleared away surface. A spoon stirs sugar into it, untouched, while Hilda hums in the corner of the kitchen. Ambrose is playing some old tune up in his room and Zelda has gone off for the day. Her expectations for a peaceful morning disintegrate when she hears the familiar ‘ping’ of an email hitting her inbox.

Sure enough, when she glances down at the taskbar, a bright red (1) has attached itself to the corner of the little envelope icon.

There is only one person who wouldn’t think twice about emailing her on her vacation.

**TO:** Sabrina Spellman <sspellman@springdalesentry.com>  
**FROM:** Lilith Eden <lilitheden@springdalesentry.com>  
**SUBJECT:** FWD: Greendale Assignment

Sabrina,

Please respond at your earliest convenience.

 _Lilith Eden  
_ _Editor in Chief  
_ _Springdale Sentry_

> _______________________________________________________________________
> 
> Sabrina,
> 
> I do hope you are enjoying your stay in your hometown. Please do not forget your assignment. As to avoid any delays in printing, please make sure to have the file sent over within the upcoming week. 
> 
> Thank you,
> 
> _Lilith Eden  
>  _ _Editor in Chief  
>  _ _Springdale Sentry_

Sabrina stares at the email for several seconds, pending a response as she mulls over in her mind what she will say, the spoon stopping in her coffee mid stir at her contemplation.

The truth is, Sabrina has a notepad scrawled with several key points and a few resident interviews, but other than that, the document containing her article still sits blank and empty. She has no excuses to offer, either, not that Lilith would buy any of them.

She shuts the laptop and groans.

* * *

“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” Sabrina asks as she reaches to tie a bundle of bells looped together with twine onto the branch of one of the nearby trees, squinting through the fog of her own frozen breath as she exhales. The bells jingle as she lets them go and plops back down onto her feet.

“The veil between the dead and living is thinnest during the solstice,” Ambrose explains. “The bells lining our property will alert us of any spirits that may wander in.” 

“I know that,” Sabrina huffs back. They’ve certainly done this enough times in the past that she’s pretty well informed on the reasoning behind it. Hilda makes the bells and they all go out to attach them, all of them adding a bit of their own magic to it in the process. “I meant, why are we doing this _alone?”_

“Because aunt Zelda thought it would be a proper enough punishment for our fighting over the last slice of gingerbread roulade.”

“Right,” Sabrina recalls grimly. It may have involved several levitating butter knives pointed at one another, as well as an exploding can of whipped cream that ended up painting the entire kitchen. “Well, you know it’s my favorite and I’m not home often, so it should of course go to me.”

“Hilda only makes it once a year, regardless of whether or not you’re here,” Ambrose defends. “It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway, since Hilda resolved it by handing it off to Zelda.”

“I swear, I think Hilda only makes one a year because watching us dissolve into chaos is entertaining,” Sabrina sighs. And auntie Zelda always ends up getting the last piece of whatever dessert is in question if there is ever a disagreement, though it really only ever comes down to the gingerbread roulade. Hilda bakes everything else in abundance, enough so they are sick of it by the time the season comes to an end. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Ambrose says. “Auntie Hilda is sweet as can be, but she does have her dark side.” He dusts remnants of tree bark from his gloves after tying up a bell of his own. “Let’s just finish this so we can go back inside where it’s warm.”

Sabrina nods in agreement and sets her focus back on their task.

After several hours, the two of them are wandering back up the Spellman porch steps, grumbling and rubbing at the back of the necks where they have gone stiff from stretching upward. By the time they slide out of their dirtied shoes and leave them beside the front door, the sun has already begun it’s descent below the tree line surrounding the property, bleeding gold along the lawn.

“Oh, lovely. Since the two of you are properly cooled off, why don’t you run up and rinse up for dinner? Should be ready soon,” Hilda greets, pausing in the hallway between the kitchen and dining room, oven mitts donned and a wooden spoon hanging from the pocket of her apron.

“Yes, auntie,” they say in unison. Just before they are about to race up the stairs, Sabrina stops midway and leans over the railing to catch her aunt before she disappears into the kitchen again. 

“Auntie Hilda?” 

“Yes, dearest?”

“Could you please set an extra spot?”

Hilda’s blonde head peeks out of the kitchen. She’s wearing a questioning look. “Of course. Might I ask why?”

“I invited someone over for dinner. I’m not sure they’ll show, but I thought maybe we could set another spot, just in case they do.”

“A guest?” Ambrose questions from where he’s paused on the steps ahead of her.

Zelda comes out of the parlor holding a glass of gin and waving cigarette smoke out of her way. Sabrina is sure her aunt has put some sort of spell on the old home that allows her to listen in on things from wherever she may be. “Who on Earth did you invite?”

“Sweet Harvey?” Hilda asks at the same time that Zelda pipes up with, “That sickening polite mortal?” 

Sabrina sighs heavily, ignoring the voice in her head that asks why she _didn’t_ invite Harvey, and says, “No, someone else.”

“Someone else?” Ambrose muses.

“The guy I told you about at the market,” Sabrina explains. “The one selling spellbooks? Turns out he’s a warlock. I invited him because I’m pretty sure he’s spending the solstice alone and also because I thought aunt Zelda might like to meet him. He said he’s without a coven right now, and I know how auntie loves to sell the Church of Night.”

“I hold pride in our coven, and there is power in numbers,” Zelda says, raising her chin. “Very well, we shall meet with him.”

“If he shows up auntie. It was a last-minute invite.”

“So,” Hilda cuts in slowly. “Sweet little Harvey is _not_ showing up?”

“Seems Sabrina has moved on to better things,” Ambrose says, despite never even having met Nick. Sabrina glares at him as she moves past him on the stairwell. Part of her hopes Nick _won’t_ show up, simply because she isn’t certain how her cousin will react to him. On one hand, he may tease her about her choice to invite him over Harvey—on the other, he may decide a dark-haired warlock is exactly what he needs this season and choose to sweep him right up to share with Prudence. Not that Sabrina would be _jealous_ or anything.

She retreats up to her room, which is still set up for teenage, high-school Sabrina and rummages through the dresser drawer where she has unpacked some of her clothing, replacing her bulky cableknit and jeans with a fitted, high waisted skirt and a cropped sweater. After rinsing off and spending a good several moments warming her hands up under the running hot water, she dresses and heads back down the stairs, pausing only when the doorbell rings. She has but a moment to react before she’s startled by her cousin. 

“I’ve got it,” he shouts from somewhere in the parlor, coming out in paisley printed top and fitted trousers while waving about the freshly opened whiskey bottled he’s holding by the neck.

Sabrina races down the rest of the stairs, nearly tripping over her own feet as she calls back, “No, _I’ve_ got it!”

They’re practically shoving each other out of the way when they do make it to the door, hip bumping at one another and grabbing for the frame. Ambrose manages to grab the doorknob, Sabrina missing swatting his hand away a split second to short. The door swings open to reveal a darkened figure under the porchlight. Nick Scratch stares back at the two of them crammed into the seemingly too small doorway with a peculiar look that makes Sabrina’s cheek flush with warmth.

“Bright Solstice,” he greets.

“Bright Solstice, indeed,” Ambrose replies, side-eyeing Sabrina though most of his focus seems to stick to the stranger. 

“Bright solstice, Nicholas,” Sabrina repeats, elbowing her cousin before she steps aside and says, “Come on in from the cold.” The words undo the tightly wound threads of magic surrounding the Spellman property, welcoming him in.

“Thank you, and it’s Nick,” he reminds her with a teasing note, and though there are still several inches between them when he brushes past her shoulder, the swell of his magic mingling with hers makes it feel as though he is right up against her. Sabrina ignores her cousin’s curious look as Nick quirks a brow and glances at the space around them, expression bright with curiosity. It’s hard not to admit that the intrigue only makes him look more attractive. “Mortuary, huh? Please tell me it’s a front for some under the table necromancy.”

“Not exactly,” she says. “We run it to fit in with the mortals, but I think my aunt Hilda has trapped several ghosts in the past.”

“Wicked,” Nick comments, “Tell me she kept them?”

“I think so, but they’ve been locked and hidden since I got curious when I was ten and let one loose in the house.”

There’s a playful glint to his eye. “A rebel,” he notes.

Sabrina smiles, feeling something swirl in her chest. “That’s me.”

Ambrose clears his throat from behind them, alerting Sabrina of his forgotten presence suddenly. 

“Oh, that’s right,” she says. “Nick, let me introduce you to—”

“I’m Ambrose Spellman, Sabrina’s older, much wiser, startlingly gorgeous cousin,” he cut in, squeezing in front of her to hold out his hand. “Welcome to our home, Nicholas, what’s your drink of choice?”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Nick says. “And bourbon, if you’ve got it.”

“I do.” Ambrose slings an arm around his shoulders and then he’s guiding him away toward the parlor. From the corner of her eye, she can spot the glint of red hair already occupying one of the cushioned armchairs beside the makeshift bar they have set up in there.

Sabrina sighs and shakes her head. Of course, Zelda and Ambrose Spellman have taken the night into their hands, likely having already begun plotting the moment she’d revealed she’d invited a guest. As if on cue, she sees Zelda stand and offer her usual greeting and a firm handshake. Hilda stays planted in the kitchen, not in any rush to meet their guest, Sabrina can tell as much by the sound of clattering as she preps the trimmings for their meal. 

“Sabrina,” Zelda says when she enters the parlor, Nick’s gaze shifting over to her as soon as she does. True to Ambrose’s word, there’s a glass of amber in his hand. “You didn’t tell me you’d met Mr. Scratch.”

No, Sabrina never really mentioned a name, not even after she had one. She hadn’t seen why it would be such a big deal, but her aunt Zelda is looking at her as if it should have been. Sabrina simply shrugs as Ambrose hands her a glass of her favorite red wine. “I’d only recently met him. Didn’t know he was a warlock at first.” She eyes him through the corner of her eye as she goes in for a sip and he offers a wink in return.

“Nicholas’ family once belonged to the Church of Night,” Zelda says and Sabrina’s attention snaps back to her. “I know his mother and father personally.”

“What? Seriously?” she asks, glancing over at Nick for confirmation. “You told me you weren’t part of any coven.”

“I’m not,” Nick confirms. She thinks he looks a bit wistful at that moment, as though considering something long lost. “I left once I finished at the Academy—went elsewhere. There wasn’t much more in Greendale for me.”

“But I went to the Academy,” she says, equal parts confused and curious. There is just no way she could have missed someone like him at the Academy even if she had tried. “Why didn’t I ever run into you?”

“Nicholas is a bit older,” Zelda explains, glancing at him. “I believe he left the year you were due to start, didn’t you?” 

Nick nods in confirmation. 

“We just missed one another,” Sabrina realizes. It makes sense. He had mentioned the Greendale wood being a pool of magic. She should have known that tidbit of knowledge wouldn’t really exist in anyone outside of the coven. 

Nick tilts his glass toward her as though in a distanced toast. “We ended up meeting anyway,” he says.

“In the middle of a Christmas market,” Ambrose cuts in, making the both of them laugh. “I need the full story behind that, mate.” He drops a hand onto Nick’s shoulder, but before the conversation can go any further, Hilda flutters into the room to announce dinner. She ruffles at the sight of Nick.

“I don’t think your aunt likes me very much,” he whispers on their way to the dining room.

“It’s not you,” Sabrina assures, “She just wishes you were someone else.”

  
  


* * *

After dinner, her aunt Zelda takes her tea on the patio with a fresh cigarette in place while Hilda prepares a batch of hot chocolate. Ambrose rejoices in a Yule miracle when Prudence shows up at their doorstep and it isn’t long before the two of them are creeping up the stairs to his room.

Sabrina finds Nick in the parlor again, his attention on the Yule tree and all of its ornaments. Most of them are collected or crafted—pentagrams made of sticks collected near the stone altar in the woods, pine cones from the oldest trees surrounding their home, the roots brimming with magic and protection. There are several pieces made by Sabrina in her kinder years at her mortal school, hung up proudly by Hilda. But more importantly, there are photos. A small frame holds a photograph of Edward and Diana Spellman, an infant Sabrina bundled up between them. Somewhere else on the tree, Ambrose’s parents are displayed, as well.

He startles, offering her a bashful look when she stops beside him.

“Sorry, I…” he begins, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen an actual Yule tree, I hope I’m not overstepping…”

“Not at all,” Sabrina says. “We welcomed you in.” She pauses to admire the tree as well. Zelda, in traditional fashion, isn’t shy about her despise for the string lights plenty of mortals insist on using for their trees, so theirs is donned in dozens of tiny tea lights, all powered by the magic radiating throughout the home. The tiny flames will burn safely until the end of Yule. “Where do you normally spend Yule?” she asks curiously. “I mean when you aren’t parading around as a bookseller in a mortal Christmas market.”

Nick chuckles, bumps his shoulder against hers gently. It sends a soft wave of warmth over her. “In the Unholy Lands, normally,” he answers. “Where an unimaginable amount of literature exists, plenty of which is left untouched during the winter solstice.” Because most witches retreat home during the season, she imagines, and though she has only known Nick for a short period of time, she is quickly learning that cozied up between the pages of a book is his favorite place to be. Still, she can read between the lines well enough to realize that, perhaps, he yearns for something more than lonely solstices in vast libraries—something kinder. 

Someone who won’t leave him behind.

She slides her hand into his before she can stop herself, and though neither of them remove their gaze from the tree in front of them, he grasps back. It’s steady, like the moon at night.

“That sounds…” Sabrina starts, “so damn _boring.”_

Nick’s laugh is richer than the oldest of wines and just as intoxicating. “It’s not just reading. There are mermaids, too,” he offers. “They’ll sing for you, if you know how to ask them.”

Sabrina takes a chance and glances over at him. The light from the flames flickers around his skin, deepening the lines and shadows that carve out his features.

“Have they ever sang for you?” she asks.

He turns his gaze to her and her eyes move up to meet it, cheeks simmering at the thought that she might have been caught staring.

“Yes.”

Further intrigued, she asks, “And what do mermaids sound like?”

“What you most desire,” Nick says. “So they sound different to everyone.”

Sabrina swallows past the hesitation, feeling bold. “Well, what did _yours_ sound like?”

She doesn’t realize how close she has gotten to him, the space between them slimmed down to mere inches. If she leans up just a bit, she’ll be face to face with him, close enough to realize that there is brown muddled in those eyes of his, though they are nearly black now as they linger on her. He shrugs ever so slightly, his mouth parted in consideration despite nothing coming of it. Her gaze falls to his lips, and for a split second, she thinks how wonderful it would be to hear him say her name.

To be his desire.

To have the mermaids he hears sound like her.

The sudden, intrusive thought sends the thrill of a shiver up her spine, and Nick grasps her hand a bit firmer when he feels it course through her. It sends a jolt of magic from him to her, but Nick doesn’t seem at all bothered by it. His free hand reaches up to cup her face, thumb stroking featherlight along the line of her cheek and up toward her hair.

There are several stages between a craving and full-on hunger but they seem to bypass all of them and head straight into it, her fingers tangling into the front of his shirt, dragging him forward though it takes no strength at all because he is practically toppling over. A figure of glass hit just the right way. Her hands slide up his chest, his neck, and into his hair, drawing a sigh from him. Nick’s arm pulls her close, leaving her wondering whether the heartbeat thudding against her chest belongs to her or him.

Their lips brush when clarity floods her.

“Wait,” she says, drawing away. “Stop.”

The word sends him stepping back, dropping his grasp on her although reluctantly.

“Is everything—”

“Fine,” Sabrina answers. “Fine, but I can’t…”

It dawns on Nick and he nods, slow, biting back disappointment. Her heart thuds in her chest, and it’s all hers this time—too big and painful and sharp to be anyone else’s. 

“The mortal,” he says.

She just nods.

* * *

**TO:** Sabrina Spellman <sspellman@springdalesentry.com>  
**FROM:** Lilith Eden <lilitheden@springdalesentry.com>  
**SUBJECT:** FWD: FWD: Greendale Assignment

Sabrina,

May I remind you that even in death, we require a two weeks minimum notice of resignation.

 _Lilith Eden  
_ _Editor in Chief  
_ _Springdale Sentry_

> _______________________________________________________________________
> 
> Sabrina,
> 
> Please respond at your earliest convenience.
> 
> _Lilith Eden  
>  _ _Editor in Chief  
>  _ _Springdale Sentry_
> 
> _______________________________________________________________________
> 
> Sabrina,
> 
> I do hope you are enjoying your stay in your hometown. Please do not forget your assignment. As to avoid any delays in printing...

* * *

Sabrina trudges down the dirt pathway that leads to the Kinkle home, unsticking her boots from the mud where the ground has gone soft, the morning sun warming it just enough to allow it to thaw from its frozen state. Harvey hasn’t answered her calls all morning and she hopes she can meet with him outside without his father noticing or interrupting them. She doesn’t really think it would do them any good if he walked in on them during this particular discussion.

The truth is, she’s been thinking a lot about why she stopped Nick from kissing her when, at the time, it seemed to be exactly what she wanted.

It’s because, though she has realized and accepted that Harvey is not the one, she can’t bring herself to hurt him. It’s because Harvey was her friend before was ever her crush. He’s a constant in her life that she isn’t quite ready to get rid of. 

She’s slipping through the old metal gate at the front, wincing as the joints screech loudly, when she notices the figure outside the front door.

“Harvey?” Sabrina calls out, recognizing his floppy brown hair. Harvey startles, the key slipping out of his hand onto the patio floor. He goes down to retrieve it, a little awkwardly, and that’s when Sabrina realizes the backpack hiked up onto his back.

“Brina,” he greets, shoving his hands into his pockets as he comes down the steps to greet her, hand raking through his hair in that nervous way of his. “Hey, I was just about to...I was just going to call you back. Sorry, I’ve been so busy this morning.”

“What’s going on?” she asks, eyes still drawn to the bag. He’s packed for more than just a day at the mines or a walk into town. Suspicion grows in her stomach. “Are you headed somewhere?”

“I uh…” He glances at the spot where his hand meets the strap of the backpack and shrugs a little bashfully. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m heading out.”

“Out of…”

“Out of Greendale,” he finishes. “I made the decision last night. I’m...not going to stay here any longer. I can’t. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in the mines, picking away in the dark when I could be doing something else—something that makes _me_ happy...”

“Where are you going?”

“Into the city,” he reveals. “I’m going to try and get into the art school there, maybe work part-time somewhere, and just...work toward something of my own.” 

And then comes the staring. She at him and him at her. It feels like an eternity before Sabrina says something.

“Harvey—”

“I’m sorry, Sabrina. I was going to call you back and meet with you before I left. Promise,” he says. “And I’m not saying _you_ don’t make me happy. Or Theo or Roz, but—”

“Harvey, listen,” she cuts in, stepping forward so that she can quite literally shake some sense into him. “I’m happy!”

He waits for a moment, glancing at her as if waiting for her to renounce it. “I...Wait are you serious?”

“Yes,” she admits as the grin works its way across her mouth, curving her red lips up. “Yes, Harvey, this is what I always wanted for you. For you to go and do what you want, to see things outside of Greendale. You said it yourself, you don’t deserve a life in the mines. You deserve so much more—!” The end of her sentence dissolves into a squeal when he suddenly lifts her into an embrace.

“I thought you’d be…” Harvey trails off.

Sabrina smiles against his shoulder. 

“Mad?” she asks.

“No—disappointed. I asked you out on a date and then decided to blow this place.”

“I’m not,” she assures, drawing away enough so that she can look up at him. He’s beaming, the morning light that peaks through the thick clouds casts a glow over him, mingling with the joy spilling out from within him. “I’m really glad we went on that date, Harv...but I think we both want different things right now. And that’s okay.”

“It is?”

“Yes,” she says. “I was on my way over to talk to you about that, actually. I love you. I always will. Same as Theo and Roz. But...I want other things as well, and I think it’s better if we stay friends.”

Harvey nods and she sees the relief as it comes to life within him, too.

“Oh, thank God,” he breathes. “I really wasn’t looking forward to telling you, but...I guess it worked out.”

“It did,” Sabrina agrees.

“And Brina?” She pulls back to look at him. Harvey’s beaming brighter than she has ever thought he could. “I’ll always love you, too,” he says. 

* * *

The Christmas market is short one bookseller that evening. 

She races between the aisles but the once beaming ray of magic is nowhere to be felt.

Worry creases through her at the thought that she might have messed things up with Nick. Sabrina knows it wouldn’t have been so bad if she had kissed him right then and there—she and Harvey hadn’t been exclusive or anything—but she knows she couldn’t have moved forward without clearing things up with him first. And how fair would it have been to Nick if he had not had her sole attention at that very moment? 

Sabrina halts.

The flutter of magic is thin, a trickle of light through a barely opened door, but still there. She grasps it, weaves the thread through her fingers until it tangles with no option of letting go and pulls, allowing her own to knit into it. She doesn’t realize she’s running until she’s crossing the edge of the market, spilling back out into the street surrounding it. It’s black as night out there, the streetlights so dull in comparison to the market nearby that they hardly work to produce any light. Sabrina spins, following the magic, and slams face-first into something solid. It almost knocks the air out of her, and if not for the pair of hands that steady her, would have sent her stumbling several steps back.

The air around her is tinged with the scent of leather and blood orange. She steadies herself and looks up to find Nick, eyes perplexed as he stares at her. 

“You,” he notes, surprised by her presence.

“Me,” Sabrina says, her breathing thick from all of the running. For a split second, she forgets her own name, staring back at him. It’s wild, the feeling that springs to life within her when she’s before him, much stronger now than that little flame she felt when she first saw him on the opposite end of a booth, rows of books between them. “Where did you go? Your stall is gone—I couldn’t find you.”

Nick keeps one hand on her arm, the other patting the messenger bag at his side. Without having to ask, she knows he’s charmed it to hold an endless supply of books, and like Harvey, anything of importance to him has been packed away into it. 

“I’m moving on,” he declares. “My time in Greendale is up.”

“No,” Sabrina says hastily, her fingers tangling further into his shirt, intent to keep him there. “Not yet. You haven’t found who you’re looking for.”

And then, she kisses him. There’s a moment of hesitance from him, a blink of confusion, before he’s melting against hers, arms sliding around her middle to pull her close. Kissing Harvey had been like breathing air—simple; a hardly noticed feat. Kissing Nick sends magic coursing through her, old as the roots in that little hometown of hers. It’s fire lapping at her skin, the thrill of a first ritual under a full moon. It’s every bit as maddening as she has hoped it would be.

When they draw away at the tickle of something foreign and cold on their faces, Sabrina looks up to find it snowing. Just as Zelda had predicted. 

“What about your mortal?” Nick asks, breath raw from the kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Sabrina breathes when she lets her gaze fall back onto her. “I didn’t realize at first that I was chasing the wrong thing. I expected it to be Harvey and I didn’t even notice it when you slipped right in.”

He shakes his head to clear her worry. The snow that settles in his hair reminds her of the stars on a clear night. Sabrina’s fingers yearn to touch him, to linger in all of the places she considered forbidden the night before.

“When did you know it was me?”

“When you came around the third time,” Nick says, leaning in, lips grazing hers. Her eyes flutter shut and she focuses on the velvet brush of his voice. “When you invited me—when you wouldn’t leave me behind. And—”

“And?” she lingers, eyes still closed.

“And when I realized that all of the mermaids sounded a little bit like you.”

He kisses her that time and it’s just as exhilarating as the first.

Sabrina tastes the tea, sweet on the back of her tongue.

* * *

Sabrina settles back into the cushions of her bed, laptop positioned in front of her, and begins to type.

 _The charming thing about a small-town Christmas,_ she starts, casting a glance over at the figure snoozing beside her, hair dark against the white of her sheets, _is that, though quaint, there is always a bit of magic to be discovered._

* * *

“Ms. Spellman?”

Sabrina glances up from her desk to see Lilith standing in the doorway of her cramped— probably once a storage closet—office, hand raised though she doubts the woman even knocked. She breezes in before Sabrina even invites her and for once, the air around is her blooming with a weird sort of lightness. For a moment, it leaves her concerned, but then Lilith actually smiles.

“Yes?”

“Your article was a success,” Lilith says. “The city loved your take on a small-town Christmas. We’ve had several people respond to the online article with comments of their own holiday magic. The Tweet linking to it has been retweeted by the mayor and a couple of other high-standing figures. Overall, it seems you’ve really caused quite the rejoice.”

Sabrina can hardly hear her own thoughts over the beating of her heart as it attempts to skyrocket out of her chest. “R-Really?” she asks.

“Really,” Lilith confirms with a firm nod. “I had a few other topics I thought you should cover. Please swing by my office after your break so that we can properly discuss it, yes?”

“Absolutely,” Sabrina somehow manages to choke out.

Lilith glances about the office on her way out. “And it’s probably time to sort out a new office space for you, I think. You’ve been here long enough now, I’m sure we can find something down the hall for you.”

Sabrina has a mere moment to celebrate after Lilith’s departure, jumping up from her seat to twirl, before she’s startled by a gust of magic and stumbles back into her desk. 

“Moving up, I see,” Nick says, from his spot on the windowsill as he stands to hand her one of the two to-go coffee cups he’s procured from a small bakery down the street. “Congratulations.”

“Nicholas!” Sabrina chastises. “I’ve told you, you _cannot_ be teleporting in and out of my office like that. What if someone sees you?”

“Memory wipe,” Nick adds with a small shrug. “Live a little, Spellman.”

“I live a lot,” Sabrina remarks sarcastically as she takes one of the coffee cups. “Upwards to a thousand years, I hear.”

“Think you’ve got enough time in that long life of yours to have dinner with me?” Nick asks with a smirk.

She leans back against the desk, drawing him in toward her with a playful smile of her own. 

“I think I can work something out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this all ended up coming together alright. I wrote most of it one to two sittings and going back to edit it has been hell because past me really likes to make things difficult. 
> 
> If you enjoyed, please considering dropping a kudos or comment--it's greatly appreciated! thank you so much for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> Please drop a comment and let me know what you thought!


End file.
